Recalled to Life
by McKenzie Duff
Summary: UPDATED! Takes place after book 5. Remus and Harry are finding it difficult to cope with Sirius' death, where someone new must cope with Sirius' life. Attempts at wellwritten fanfiction, I promise! R&R please!
1. The Period

Hey guys! Finally getting this project off the ground. Read and review, so I'll know how I'm doing, okay?

Questions, comments or flames can be e-mailed -- my address is in my profile. Thanks!

If you can guess where the fic title comes from, you win teh prize. V

lessthanthree – MKD

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Recalled To Life: Chapter 1 – The Period

Sirinal Vega gathered Lupine blossoms dreamily, staring unfocussed as she often did into the hills above the tiny cottage she shared with her grandmother. She was not a tall young witch, but was handsome with long, straight dark hair and a deep complexion. Her eyes glittered a darker shade of blue in the sunlight as she envisioned a happy scene involving a vague outline of a mother and father, and a smaller version of herself, clear and defined. She was happy in this dream, and snatches of a make-believe past played out against the Lupines—a lock of raven hair falling in her eyes, her mother's light skin, her father's brown eyes and deep laugh…

But none of these glimpses were real. None were hers.

She couldn't remember her parents at all, really. Though her father had never seen her, she felt guilty at trying to remember her mother. Surely she should be able to recall something, _anything_… she was betraying her mother's memory by forgetting her… but she had been tooyoung to remember. Her mother had died and left her, a year old, in the care of her elderly grandmother, and this kind, smiling old woman was the only family she had ever known.

Her grandmother would tell her stories, though, of a beautiful woman named Lepora, strong and powerful, who defended her daughter to the death, hid her with the most powerful charms, sacrificed herself to save her beloved child… Bitterly, Sirinal wondered if perhaps her mother _did_ love her, or why would she have left?

Her grandmother would tell her of a brilliant, amazing man—her father—who had loved Lepora so much that he left her, lest she be found by Lord Voldemort for being his beloved. He was so mighty a wizard that Lord Voldemort had chased him to the ends of the earth, seeking to destroy any threats to his terrible reign.

All Sirinal had now was a burnt, broken wand and a silver pendant in the stylized form of a "B".

She sighed and pinched off another flower, inhaling its calm fragrance, and turned back toward her home, cradling the bundle of various flowers and herbs her grandmother had sent her for. But as she looked up, already halfway down the slope, she saw something horribly familiar.

Smoke was issuing from the next rise. Just behind it was the village of Smithsdenn, where Sirinal and her grandmother would go to market each weekend. But the only reason smoke would be rising there would either be the result of a simple house fire, or…

The smoke slowly reddened as a terrible outline emerged. The skull and the serpent. Lord Voldemort's followers.

Dropping the plants in her haste, she all but fell down the hill, tearing toward the cottage. If Voldemort's followers were already in Smithsdenn, it would only be a matter of time before they searched the surrounding farmhouses, and that would be the end of it. _Just like Mom…_

She ripped the door open, but her grandmother already knew, because she was staring at Sirinal with a tragic expression, holding out the only broom in the house. "I've already charmed it," she murmured, her voice trembling even more than usual. "And I've gathered for you what I can. You'll be alright if you can make it to Hogsmeade. Whatever happens, seek out Remus Lupin. He'll know how to find your father."

Sirinal merely gaped at her grandmother, too much information, too many questions barrelling into her all at once. Her grandmother had never acknowledged that her father might even be alive, let alone that she would be able to find him. But she was doing so now, and also condemning herself to death in the same breath.

Sirinal stepped forward, grabbing her broom in hands already white with fear. "No." She took her grandmother's arm in her other hand, shaking it. "You are coming _with_ me. I will _not_ leave you."

---

Remus Lupin glanced over at Harry, hunched as he was on the seat of the Knight Bus. Harry's eyes had an awful, dead look about them. Lupin reached out to touch the young wizard's knee in what he hoped was a comforting sort of way. "Harry," he said gently, his voice jumping as the Knight Bus lurched out of Little Whinging into Ottery St. Catchpole, "is everything alright?"

Harry's face darkened. At first, Lupin was sure he wouldn't respond—rarely did Harry share his inner emotions—but then Harry shook his head. "I didn't know my mum and dad, but, I knew Sirius." He kept his gaze fixed on his shoes, apparently studying the fibres of his laces. Lupin's heart contracted in a familiar sort of way at the mention of his old friend. "There are so many things I never got to tell him… Things we never got to do." These words cut deeper; Lupin found it difficult to breathe. The things _he_ had never said, never done, with his Padfoot…

"I wanted him to tell me about my mum and dad," Harry mumbled, embarrassed.

Lupin smiled sadly. "I have something for you."

Harry looked up with interest—Lupin's presents were usually quite good. He sucked in a breath as Lupin slid an elegant, shallow stone basin from his tattered old briefcase. "A pensieve," Harry whispered, his eyes lingering on the runes around its edge.

"Indeed," Lupin said. "I say this is for you in an indirect way… What I would like to do for you is put some of my memories and experiences in this pensieve for you to peruse at your leisure… so you _can_ know your parents, and Sirius, too."

Harry gaped at him, numb. "Professor… I…" he mouthed helplessly, but Lupin saved him, holding up a hand.

"Now, Harry," Lupin said in a firmer tone. "I don't want you to live your life in this pensieve. However, I think it will be helpful to you to be able to understand who your parents were and what they did. Just remember that even as you live my memories, you also should be making memories of your own. Do not get trapped in the past, Harry. The future is what is most important."

Harry fingered the pensieve shakily. He could really _know_ them, all of them; see them and hear them… He felt, for the first time in months, the corners of his mouth spreading, until a muted grin bloomed across his face.

"Call it a late birthday present, Harry," Lupin said, mirroring the smile. "I'm sorry I couldn't come get you sooner—there was some business with the Ministry to clear up, and then we had to make sure your stay at the Burrow would be safe. Ron and Hermione have been clamouring to see you, you know."

Harry nodded. "They've certainly said so, in their letters. I think they feel guilty about what happened last summer." _Last summer, before….Sirius_, Harry thought. _I'll get to see you… but you're still gone…_He let Lupin put the pensieve back into his bag. _It isn't_ fair_. There's no one, now._

Harry felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked into a pair of sombre amber eyes. He thought he could see something hidden there, in their darkness, but as he looked closer it slipped away, replaced by a tired softness. "I miss him, too," Lupin said quietly, his voice catching.

Harry watched Lupin as he walked down the bus to speak with the pimply young conductor, Stan Shunpike. He shivered in the sudden cold as Madam Marsh tottered out the door, and pulled his borrowed cloak around him. Less than an hour ago he had been eating a solitary dinner in an empty house—Lupin had once again fooled his only living relatives, the Dursleys, into an outing, leaving Harry behind to escape. Harry was not surprised to see his aunt and uncle fall for the gambit once again as they hauled Dudley, Harry's massive cousin, to his non-existent awards ceremony. The invitation cited Dudley's excellence in being such a "big example" on his wrestling team. And so, dressed to the nines, Dudley Dursley waddled out the front door, followed by his massive father and spindly mother, and Harry was left to his own devices. Remus didn't break into the house this time, but knocked pleasantly at the door, and swept Harry up in his haze of astonishment. After nary a word from the wizarding world for the first two months of summer (though Harry was getting quite used to such treatment these days) he dizzily settled back into the swing of wizardly life, putting bacon-frying and shoe-polishing behind him until the next summer.

"Harry, next stop's the Burrow," Lupin said warmly, gathering up his briefcase and steadying himself with his other hand while the bus leapt forward, houses jumping out of the way pell-mell.

"Oh, right," Harry muttered, standing. "But what about…" He looked at his shoelaces again. "Grimmauld Place?"

Remus sucked in a breath. "Ah, yes… Sirius asked me to take care of it for a while… until I get a few things worked out. I thought the Burrow would be a much more comfortable place for you, for the summer."

Harry nodded, fingering his wand through his pocket. _I can't stand this… I was supposed to live with _him_, in _his _house. Now I'll never…_ But thinking of what-ifs and broken possibilities would get him nowhere. There would be time to grieve—in the dark of the night, when no one could see him, when he could be left to his pain.

"Here we are, Harry," Remus said brightly, pushing Harry ahead of him. "You'll be here until the start of the semester, and I've already left a note for the Dursleys, so you won't need to worry—"

"I wasn't," Harry snorted.

"Right, then."

Molly Weasley greeted them in her usual fashion, hurrying the two of them inside before wrapping Harry in a very tight hug. "Harry, love, have you eaten?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Remus?"

"Not yet, Molly," Remus smiled, shrugging off his tattered old coat and sliding into a chair at the massive dinner table.

"You must be famished," Mrs. Weasley said, hustling about the kitchen. "Harry, you're in Ron's room, you know the one. Ron and Hermione should be back any moment—"

"HARRY!"

Harry stumbled as he was accosted by Hermione, who tumbled into him in her haste to embrace him. He laughed and buried his face in her hair while she told him at breakneck speed of her summer before the burrow. He looked over at Ron, who clapped him on the back with a grin. "Hullo, Harry!" Ron had grown, if possible, even taller, and his hair had darkened to a brassier shade, but some of his gangly awkwardness was gone and was replaced by a slight sunburn braised across his nose. Hermione, on the other hand, had turned a lovely brown colour, and her hair had lightened. However, probably due to the heavy rains, it had grown even more out of control than ever, ringing her face with wiry, bulky curls.

"Harry, I'm so glad you're here!" Hermione said breathlessly, standing back. "I wish I could say we had so much to tell you, but really we don't—we don't have any idea what's been going on with _You-Know-Who_ or _anything_!"

Harry smiled sheepishly. "That's okay. I was kind of hoping for a quieter summer than last…"

"You'll get it, mate. Fred and George and Ginny want a bit of a Quidditch match later, by the way."

Harry grinned.

Remus smiled wearily, glad to see his young charge at last in a place he felt comfortable and loved. He turned to his plate to find it heaped high with typical Weasley fare, and tucked in with a vengeance, sparing a brief thought for someone he had eaten dinner with mere months ago.

---

"You take the broom, and I can go through the pass in the woods. They won't find me, I swear…"

"Sirinal Vega," her grandmother said warningly, "You will take this broom and go, and I will hold them off as long as I can while you go get help." She smiled weakly. "I've still got quite a few hexes up my sleeve they won't soon forget."

"Grandmother, _you're all I have!_" Sirinal choked.

Footsteps at the path…

"Go," the old woman said, with the steel in her voice Sirinal hadn't heard since she was a child.

Sirinal wrapped her wiry grandmother into a tight embrace, fighting terror and pain, and slipped out the back door.

She flew.

It took only an hour to reach the next village, but the damage had been done. The village wizards, what few there were, were far more concerned with safeguarding and evacuation of the village than with helping a young girl's aged guardian. Sirinal staggered from one to the next, begging, threatening, fighting desperately against tears. She should never have left. She should have stayed… Frantic, near hysterics now, she snatched at the robes fluttering around her. "Let go!" their owner snapped, shoving her to the ground. She burst into horrified tears as the wizard hurried away.

"Calm down," said a gruff, but gentle voice. She looked up to see a calloused hand extended to her. As he helped her to her feet, she was startled by the young face looking sternly back at her. He had sandy hair, and a strong, ruddy face; his eyes eclipsed these features. They at once pierced and calmed her; she had never seen such an intense gaze. His eyes were brown, warming to honey at the centre. "I'll help you," he said.

She might have collapsed with her relief, but he was still holding her hand tightly, lending her strength. "Tha—"

"Pick up your broom and come with me." He finally, suddenly, released her hand and began walking. She hurried to keep up, sickened by the sight of approaching smoke. "We'll have to go by horseback."

"I'm not sure how long this broom will stay charmed anyway," she murmured.

Just out of the village he pulled her up behind him onto a bay gelding, and they began cantering through the forest, veering away from a direct path to the cottage. Sirinal hung on as tightly as she could. "I don't know what I'm going to do… I'm only sixteen," she gasped. "They're already almost to the village…"

"I'm not going to be any help, really," he said quietly.

"Why do you say that?"

"I'm a squib."

For a moment, her heart fell. But then… "You were willing to help me. Everyone else turned away but you. You are worth more than every wizard there. You _came_."

She thought, fleetingly, that she felt the warmth of his hand hovering above hers.

They reached the cottage.

---

"Harry, dear, are you alright?"

Harry was bent over his plate, fighting back a moan as blinding pain shot through his forehead.

"Harry," Lupin began, putting a worried hand on the young wizard's shoulder. "What is it?"

"He's laughing," Harry hissed, in a voice shaking with anger. "He's really happy about something. He's laughing…"

Lupin paled.

---

"Oh God… Grandmother…"

The cottage was devastated, and devastating. The grass all around was torn and singed. The front steps had collapsed—in fact, the entire porch was pitifully falling in on itself, as though someone had put too much weight on it all at once. The front door was completely gone; tendrils of smoke curled out from the inside. The air was parched, dusty and smoke-ridden. Sirinal let loose a strangled cry as she saw: the doorway was tinged with blood.

---


	2. The Mail

This story takes place just after book 5. Imagine it as an alternate universe, if you must, that branched off at that very point. At any rate, I hope you enjoy, and please review and give me some feedback! Thank you!!

disclaimer I don't own Harry Potter, or any of those other characters that are the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling (genius that she is), I'm just writing this in tribute. Sirinal Black, however, is my creation. /disclaimer

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Recalled To Life – Chapter 2: The Mail

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_She fell silent as she heard the churning of ancient wood through dark water, the black candle of a lamp barely penetrating the encroaching shadows. She stood quickly, her white slip trailing along the edge of obsidian banks beneath a rickety wrought-iron archway, as the tiny pram drew closer. A cloaked figure bent low over the fore of the craft; the hands poling the boat ashore were gaunt, flesh stretched taut over gnarled bone, translucent with age. A face concealed under a spectral hood, the boatman completely ignored its passenger, but as the pram reached the shore, the boatman did finally nod to the man seated behind him, and gestured to the arch. The boatman looked at the woman once, questioningly, as the man stumbled ashore. She shook her head, and the boat slipped away, silent this time._

_The man got to his feet and faced her, wearily._

_"Lepora," he whispered._

_She smiled. "We meet again, beloved."_

_He fell into her arms at last, breathing a shuddering sigh. "Lepora."_

_"Dearest."_

_  
------  
_

"So you see, sir," Sirinal said, her voice shaking, "you are my last link to him." She folded her hands in her lap, twisting her fingers together.

Remus Lupin leaned against the arm of his chair, staring with furrowed brows at the young woman who had appeared on his doorstep mere hours before. "And what," he asked, "is your name?"

She turned a shade of pink. "Sirinal, sir. Sirinal Vega."

Lupin felt the blood drawin from his face. "Then I do believe I can help you… just probably not as much as you would like."

She brightened. "Any help you can give me would be outstanding, Mr. Lupin."

Remus put his head in his hands. "Miss Vega… there are several questions which must be addressed." She nodded hopefully. "Firstly, the true identity of your father." He rubbed his temples. _This is absolutely impossible. He wouldn't do that. Not to me. He would have _told_ me…_ "What, Miss Vega, was your mother's name?"

"Lepora Arienne Vega." She paused a moment, and then quickly pulled a necklace from beneath her shirt. "I have this, if it helps." She handed the necklace to Lupin quickly. "It was my father's. At least, that's what my Gran told me."

Lupin frowned at the faltering tone of the last words. Obviously much more had happened than he had known about. "Sirinal… I believe, though I'm not sure I can prove it… that you father was none other than Sirius Black."

"Sirius Black?! The murderer? What are you playing at?!" Sirinal hissed.

Lupin folded his hands and said calmly, "He never killed those people. Peter Pettigrew did. Sirius Black was pardoned by the Ministry a few months ago, when the Minister announced Voldemort's return."

Sirinal blushed. "I had heard about Voldemort… well, after they attacked our house… but we don't always get news regularly…" she trailed off, looking torn. "You're sure, though? I mean… they could have it wrong. He was in Azkaban for thirteen years! And suddenly they've just up and made a mistake?"

Lupin smiled wryly at the old argument. "Miss Vega, I am as certain of this as anything. Sirius Black was no murderer, though his time spent in that prison took its toll on him." _It took his toll on many._

Sirinal swallowed hard. "So… so he was my dad, then." She took back her necklace, wrapping her hands around it close to her chest. "I had a dad." She leaned back into her chair, pressing against the leather. _All this time, I've been treated differently. Like dirt, really. All those brats back home would laugh at me, and their parents whispered. I was a bastard child. Ill-gotten off a whore mother. But my mother wasn't like that… she couldn't have been. And now I'll finally find out._

"I'm sure you must have a dozen questions to ask me—"

"Hundreds!" _Who was he? What was he like? Did he love my mother? Did he _want _me? God, did he even _know _about me?_

"You'll have time. But you've had a traumatic ordeal, Sirinal, and I think its time for you to rest. You need a few days to recover from the shock. I'm so sorry about your grandmother…"

"There should have been help," she hissed fiercely. "They should have _helped_ us!"

Lupin stood, putting his hand on her shoulder. "No one can ever fix what happened. You deserve justice for it, Miss Vega, but you are going to be the only one who can ever make that justice a reality. But for now… rest, please." He dimmed the lamps. "I'll show you to your room. You can stay here until the school year starts."

"School?" she asked, alarmed. "But I've always been… I mean… My gran always…"

"Hogwarts, I think, Miss Vega." He smiled warmly at her. "You'll like it. It'll be a big adjustment, but you'll manage. You made it here, after all."

_Yeah, through about a million miles of ugly countryside and muddy ditches. I'd forgotten exactly how awful traveling is, even on broomstick. Plus, I had to keep walking whenever someone would come along, since I didn't know if they were Muggle or not._

Sirinal wrapped her arms around her, and followed Lupin up to her room. _School, _she thought. _I don't want to go to school. More brats with more awful things to say. And I'll be way behind, and I won't know what to do or how to act… and my family is dead. Fantastic. Gran…_ The miles of fear and anxiety took their toll, however, and she never even remembered when she had closed her eyes. She dreamt of charms drawn in soot on the hearth, the smell of herbs permanently steeping on the stove, and of broken picture frames and burning.

------

Harry sat groggily beside Hermione and Ron at the breakfast table, rubbing his eyes. Hermione looked concerned. "Harry, there are little baggies under your eyes…"

He sighed. "I was doing that stupid essay of Snape's. _'Please describe the proper way to brew veritaserum and at each stage identify five possible mistakes. Also cite the history of the potion, from conception to final recipe.'_" He growled low in his throat. "I'm already on my second roll of parchment."

"I've got three so far," Hermione said pleasantly, spooning sugar onto her oatmeal.

Ron groaned. "I still haven't started."

Hermione and Harry looked at him in shock. "It's due in three days!" Hermione said.

"I know… I thought maybe you'd help me on it, 'Mione. I'm no good at potions, and—"

"Ron Weasley, I will do no such thing. Do your _own_ homework. There's a reason for it, you know."

"Oh? What's that?"

"We're probably going to brew veritaserum this year. It's on the list for our N.E.W.T.s."

"Oh… well I'm probably not going to be allowed into the class anyway. My O.W.L.'s were wretched."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You still have to do the homework, just in case. Maybe Snape'll let you in if your essay is really good."

Harry thought he heard Ron mutter "Hope not", but turned instead to his eggs and bacon, hoping something warm would wake him.

The kitchen was very empty this morning. "Hey, Ron… where is everyone?"

"Mum's gone to town with Ginny to get her a pair of those stupid muggle jeans. She's worn out the ones Hermione gave her. Keeps picking at the knees." Ron was apparently trying to inhale his breakfast in one fell swoop. He was already lanky enough—Harry wondered what it would be like if Ron actually continued to grow, and immediately pictured an eight foot tall redhead with shovel-sized hands. He snorted into his pumpkin juice.

"Wot?" Ron asked, wiping off a pumpkin mustache.

"Nothing."

A whir of black and red swooped behind Harry and out the kitchen door, ruffling his hair. Harry turned quickly to catch the backs of Fred and George bounding across the lawn. "What was that about?"

Ron pushed back his chair. "They've done something to our room, Harry. I know it." He headed up the stairs, leaving his sausage alone on its plate.

With another heartfelt sigh, Harry pushed himself up from the table and followed Ron up the stairs.

The twins had indeed vandalized the small room, thoroughly. Each and every single item in the room was covered quite efficiently in wizard newsprint. Black and white witches and wizards flitted all around the room, making the place glitter to Harry's eyes. The walls and windows were similarly covered. Harry looked closer. "Ron, how the bloody hell did they get the paper all around the window frames?"

"Some kind of stupid spell of theirs," Ron muttered, searching in vain for his wand. "I'm going to curse those two six ways from—"

Harry tried to stifle a laugh. "Ron, I found your wand." He lifted up a black and white papered stick.

Harry heard the crash of startled dishes below as Ron erupted in a bellow of rage. He really had to admire the twins resourcefulness, and wondered what new product line they were testing now, although truthfully he would have preferred the experimentation to have been done in Percy's room. The twins, however, had yet to figure out the particular spell Percy had the foresight to lay on the room, so they had to make do with their other siblings (and unsuspecting friends). Harry was only glad the twins tended to have a slightly higher respect for Hermione, because he doubted Crookshanks would have appreciated a new colour scheme on his ginger fur.

He grabbed the books for potions and charms, his essay, ink and another scroll, and headed downstairs to finish his homework for Snape. The breakfast table had been cleared, and Hermione was already nose-deep in a book. He put his things down beside her, watching out of the corner of his eye. "Hermione, how on earth do you read with your face brushing the pages?"

Hermione started, slamming the book down abruptly. "Oh, heavens, Harry. I didn't see you come in."

Harry grinned. "Good book, then?"

She frowned. "Not exactly, but it's terribly interesting. It's for my Muggle Literature class." She showed him the book. "It's from the 1800s. It's about the Frech Revolution, and it's really fascinating. All about love and betrayal and patriotism. You know, silly Muggle things." She winked at him.

Harry laughed. "Right." It was nice, to feel this kinship with Hermione, over their Muggle background. It was nice to feel any sort of kinship at all, after the death of his last remaining family. He wanted very much to reach out and take her hand, to hug her, to rest in someone else's arms and on someone else's shoulder. But he unrolled his essay instead, and dipped his pen. He knew Hermione could tell, though, what he'd been thinking. He knew, because Hermione knew everything.

Harry focused on his essay, taking comfort in visualizing the pen scratching not onto browned parchment, but into Snape's greasy, pale forehead, carving the recipe of veritaserum into the Potion Master's awful skin. Beautiful witches in bathing suits waved at him from his textbook. The essay came much faster, after that.

-------

Sirinal woke suddenly, shrieking and scratching at her arms, attempting to rid herself of the blood and burns coating them. She thrashed, hands were holding her down, tearing at her, drowning her. She had to escape. Screaming, tearing at her captives and her own skin, she flailed violently—

--and fell off the bed, tangled in bedcovers, covered in sweat. Footsteps pounded up the stairs, and Remus Lupin burst into the room, looking frantically around, wand poised for trouble. He finally noticed Sirinal, still trapped in her covers, breathing hard and looking embarrassedly up at him from the floor.

"Are you alright?" he asked, softly, putting his wand away. He came over to help free her, gentle fingers navigating the folds and wrappings. "What happened?"

She looked down, angrily snatching at the covers. "I don't know. I don't know." She was finally free of them, and she scooted back, bracing against the bedtable. "I thought… I thought I was back in my cabin, and there was blood, everywhere. I thought…"

Lupin's eyes glazed with pain. "It was a dream, Sirinal. You're safe, here." He reached out toward her. She pulled away without thinking, and he pulled back, turning the motion into smoothing out the covers. "No one will hurt you here."

"I know," she murmured, pushing her hair behind her ear with one hand. "I know that. It's stupid, really. I'm sorry." She started to push herself up off the floor.

"Sirinal," Lupin started, also standing, and reaching for her again. "It's not stupid. It's—"

"What's for breakfast?" Sirinal asked, abruptly, focusing on the window. "I'm starving." His hand fell.

Lupin sighed. _Now who does she remind you of, Remus, old fellow?_ He shook himself, piled the sheets back onto the bed, and turned. "Waffles," he said, attempting to quell the worry from his voice. "Do you like waffles?"

"Waffles would be fantastic," Sirinal said, grateful for the distraction. Lupin left the room, heading downstairs. Sirinal paused at the door, glancing back at the bedcovers. She shivered. _The past is the past_, she thought, trying to take her Gran's words to heart. _I can't let it get to me._ A twinge of pain interrupted her thoughts—her arms had angry red scratches up and down them, her fingernails had skin beneath them. She shivered, and shut the door firmly behind her. She reached the kitchen just in time to catch Lupin releasing a small brown owl into the air, parchment tied tightly to its leg.

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AN: If you haven't figured out what the title of the fic and the chapters mean… well… :P Maybe Hermione has given you a hint. Hope you liked it!


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